


This Dark Heart Bleeds

by Animad345



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animad345/pseuds/Animad345
Summary: Pitch's arrow was not meant for Jack - especially not the winter spirit's heart.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 28
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

Pitch stared in disbelief at what was happening before his very eyes. The arrow, meant for the Sandman’s back, had struck Jack Frost in the heart. The Sandman, aptly named, was indeed made entirely of sand – once infected, it would take him over, engulf him completely. Pitch had no idea what it would do to Jack. Of all the emotions that rose in Pitch, the strongest was anger. This so-called neutral party had joined a battle that was not his and foiled Pitch’s plan. A warring emotion was pity. In a sense, Jack was purely collateral damage, and even a being such as Pitch was loathe to take any pleasure as Jack was inundated with shadows. The vague sympathy disintegrated when Pitch remembered that it was Jack who had pushed the Sandman out of the way.

A passing nightmare, now recognising Jack as one of them by proxy, drifted through the air and allowed Jack’s limp body to fall onto its back. Jack lolled, but did not fall off. His appearance had not changed. There was still that shock of white hair, the alabaster skin. When his eyes opened momentarily, Pitch saw that they were still a fierce blue.  


Pitch watched as the Guardians each attempted to approach, but were blocked by the shadows which were now wrapped around Jack like a blanket. Jack himself appeared to have fallen asleep. Pitch gritted his teeth. He was not strong enough to summon another such attack. His best chance of defeating the Sandman had been snatched away from him by a mere winter spirit. It could take years before Pitch was able to mount such an offence again.

There was no way that Pitch could simply discard Jack. It would be too dangerous to let the boy free, not now that he was infected by shadows. Pitch imagined Jack floating back to the Guardians and returning, this time able to destroy Pitch for good with the Nightmare King’s own powers. No, that would not do at all.

He focussed his attention fully on Jack, ignoring the Guardians’ futile attempts to break through the shadows that shielded the winter spirit. Pitch called on his nightmares, gesturing for them to come back. Jack seemed to regained consciousness, though he appeared groggy. His arms absent-mindedly wrapped around the nightmare’s neck, likely an instinctual attempt to stay upright. When Jack looked at Pitch, there was no emotion in those blue orbs at all. He was utterly drained of life.

Pitch had no choice but to summon Jack to the shadows, dragging him down to the lair deep underground.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack clutched his chest. It felt like his heart had been ripped out. Admittedly, over the years, he had often doubted that he had a heart at all. Sometimes he laid down in the snow and could swear that he had no pulse, that maybe he’d never had that particular organ in his body. It only served to remind him of his lack of humanity. But if he wasn’t a human, what was he? Could one be a human and a spirit?

He looked around himself, trying to gauge his surroundings, but he couldn’t see a thing. Then, without warning, the apparition of Pitch Black appeared. Jack blinked, finally glancing upwards, and then he realised that there were cages all around him. His ears seemed to be blocked, but only a second later, he could hear the flapping of wings and cries of the tooth fairies, straining against their miniature prisons.

Jack couldn’t get over the expression on Pitch’s face. There was barely concealed anger, unsurprisingly. Jack had put a rather magnificent spanner in the Nightmare King’s plans. But there was something underneath, something Jack did not like at all. It was sympathy.

“Seriously?” asked Jack, his voice raspy. “You’re not even going to punch me? Slap me around the face to show your annoyance? Pretty restrained.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Jack. If you saw yourself right now, you would realise that there’s no need for me to do anything to you.”

“Didn’t think you’d be averse to kicking someone when they’re down.”

Pitch laughed, but even in the cruelty there was a spark of understanding. “Not normally. Do you want to know what you look like right now? I’m afraid there are no mirrors here.”

Jack wanted to make a stupid joke about how he was unsurprised Pitch didn’t want any of those around, but he just nodded dumbly.

“For starters, your eyes are red. More red than white or blue. Unsurprising, as you were crying in your sleep.”

Embarrassment shot through Jack. “I was not!”

“I can assure you that you were.”

Jack gritted his teeth, ignoring the ache in his chest. “What else?”

“Your lips look dreadful. You were biting them maniacally.”

Jack lipped his lips, noting the metallic taste on his tongue. He hadn’t even known that he could bleed.

“You hair is matted. Your skin is sallow. Before you ask, no, your colouring has not changed. Of course, if you were more observant, you’d see something else.”

Now that Jack’s sight seemed partially returned, he stood up and carefully checked himself. Sure enough, there were shadows writhing around him, at first thin tendrils and then as thick as snakes.

“Get them off me!”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, they’re yours, they’re – ”

“Yours, too. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you may have sway over them now?”

Jack shook his head. “No. I’m Jack Frost. You know what I have command over. Pretty obvious from the moniker.”

“Who said that you can’t have control of that, too?”

“Looks like you unwittingly created a rather powerful enemy,” snapped Jack.

“So I’m responsible for this, am I? If I had my way, you wouldn’t have become part of any of this at all!”

It stung. Jack knew what Pitch meant, but then, hadn’t Jack been left out of everything for three-hundred years?

He fell silent, just watching Pitch. Pitch’s peculiar expression did not change. Jack focussed on those glowing orbs, the thick black tresses, the way that height made Pitch loom.  


He tried to ignore the thread of fear running down his spine, the screams of the fairies raised above him. He needed a plan, and fast.


	3. Chapter 3

Pitch could see that the shadows were taking their toll on Jack already. The winter spirit hadn’t fallen unconscious as before, but he kept flicking back and forth between lucidity and blankness. At one point, Jack had tripped over his own shadows. 

“Not funny,” he had murmured.

It hadn’t even drawn a laugh from Pitch, who was too busy concentrating on what the best course of action would be. In the end, Jack handed it right to him on a silver platter.

“How long have I been here?”

“Perhaps a week.”

“And none of them have come?”

Pitch knew an opportunity when he saw one. Instead of jumping in on that, pointing out that the Guardians hadn’t given a damn about Jack until the Man in the Moon had forced him to, he didn’t say a word. The method proved effective – Jack’s fear grew at Pitch’s silence.

The greatest thing about fear was that it always took a life of its own, with or without a hand from the Nightmare King himself.

Eventually, he decided to take a neutral route and see what that would do.

“You barely know them, Jack.”

“But I – ”

“Saved the Sandman’s life? And they’re supposed to be eternally grateful to you for that?”

“I suppose not.”

Pitch was almost disappointed by how quickly Jack had succumbed to despondence. As much as Jack’s bratty nature made Pitch want to yank the boy’s white hair, it was still marginally entertaining. Jack looked like a mere child now, staring down at the shadows that continued to cling to him, writhing around like predators sizing up their prey.

“What do you want, Jack Frost?” asked Pitch softly, changing tack again.

“I want,” said Jack, meeting Pitch’s gaze. Energy had returned to those blue eyes. “I want you to release those fairies.” He gestured upwards, as though there would be any doubt as to what he was referring to.

Pitch sneered. “And why would I do that?”

“You asked me what I wanted.”

“How very selfless.”

Jack visibly bristled. “You’ve lost, Pitch. Whatever battle you were waging, it's done.”

“I may have lost that battle,” said Pitch, malevolence in his voice. How dare Jack talk to him like that? “But that does not mean I can't win the war.”

Jack flinched. “I can’t leave here, can I?”

“You cannot.”

The winter spirit wrapped his arms around himself, as if for comfort. “Then what exactly do you intend to do with me?”

“I’ve not decided as yet,” replied Pitch, not seeing the point in lying.

“Where’s my staff?”

“Amazing it took you this long to ask. I continue to doubt your observational skills, Jack. As for your question, I have no idea. It must have fallen to earth during that little scuffle back there.”

“Little scuffle,” echoed Jack. “You tried to kill Sandy.”

Pitch gritted his teeth at the friendly, innocuous nickname for his nemesis. “And he clearly feels so in debt to you that he’s left you here, with me.”

Feeling that his point had been made, Pitch turned on his heel and glided away from Jack - but not before he saw a single tear falling down the winter spirit’s cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack hadn’t anticipated how easy it would be to get lost down here. It didn’t help with the shadows weighing him down. He’d tried to ignore them, but that wasn’t sustainable. He’d started to feel oddly guilty about it. The presence of the shadows was no longer malevolent – rather, they were clamouring for his attention like adoring pets.

He was stuck at another dead-end when the memory struck him again, leaving him cringing. Had he really shed a tear in front of Pitch? Maybe he could’ve passed it off as part of his ice powers, water spontaneously leaking from his eyes that had nothing to do with emotion at all? He moved to kick against the wall, only to find there was no surface to it and it melded around his leg. He pulled back, wincing.

As far has he could see, there was no way out of here.

He figured that his best shot at getting out was annoying Pitch until he was kicked out, but how could Jack do that when Pitch was never there? He had been gone for weeks.

The words they had exchanged still stung, especially because Pitch had been right. Jack still knew virtually nothing about the Guardians and this was mutual. He didn’t belong with them, after all – he’d known that from the beginning. He hadn’t pushed Sandy out of the way due to some hero complex, or wanting to impress the Guardians. It had been entirely instinctual.

He wished that he had ditched them when he had the chance. 

But there was a small voice inside him that said that his typical life, causing ruckus and never being seen by anyone, wasn’t exactly giving him what he wanted.

“Brooding?”

Jack actually jumped, then cursed himself inwardly for a predictable reaction that had probably pleased Pitch greatly.

“No,” said Jack stupidly. “So, decided what to do with me yet?”

There was an uncomfortably long silence.

“What do you want, Jack Frost?”

It was disconcertingly similar to North’s question about who he was.

“I want to leave, so let me go, already!”

“We’ve already established that I’m not considering that as an option.”

“I’ll drive you mad if I’m here for long enough.”

“Luckily this lair is rather large, and you’re doing such a good job getting lost in it that I’ve hardly had to see you at all.” A pregnant pause. “What do you want, Jack Frost?"

Jack was tempted to just say the same thing again, seeing as Pitch was already repeating himself, but he clearly wasn’t getting anywhere with that.

“You have a choice,” continued Pitch.

“About what?”

“You could join me.”

Jack laughed, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"Think about it," said Pitch, turning to leave.

"What? You can't just say that and go!"

"Are you willing to listen to what I have to say?"

Jack wanted to give a smart rebuke, but he decided not to.

It wasn't like he had anything to lose. And frankly, he was bored. It was times like this that his childish nature reared its ugly head and he wasn't sure if he could stand wandering around here for another few weeks, only to be confronted with more and more darkness.

He sighed, trying to ignore that the shadows around him had started to writhe, as though excited by this proposal. "I'm listening." 


	5. Chapter 5

Pitch knew that he had to choose his words carefully. Every single one would count, and either reel Jack in or push him away. Jack was stock-still, wearing an expression that could only be described as petulant. Well, that would be wiped off his face quickly – if Pitch played his cards right.

“What does it feel like when a child walks through you?”

A shudder seemed to run through Jack’s entire body. “That’s got nothing to do with this.”

“It’s got everything to do with this. How does it make you feel?”

“How do you think it feels?!”

“I don’t have to think, Jack. I know. Still, I imagine it would be different for you... I merely want to learn more about your experience. Three-hundred-years of invisibility, no one acknowledging you. Not even the Guardians.”

Jack shook his head, but Pitch could see that he was slowly getting through to him, chipping away at Jack’s surface to reveal the vulnerability and insecurity buried not so far underneath. 

“At least you know what it’s like to be believed in, even if it was a million years ago,” said Jack, glaring. “So what was that like?”

The tone of Jack’s voice suggested that this was a rhetorical question, but Pitch seized on it delightedly. “Wouldn’t you like to know that yourself? You make joy for the children every day, bring simple pleasure to their lives, and at the end of it they turn away and return to their warm homes. They don’t see you at all. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I’m not like you, Pitch,” said Jack, his voice quiet and full of unexpected passion. “I don’t want them to fear me.”

“No. I exist for that purpose. There’s no need for more than one harbinger of fear.”

“Right," Jack scoffed. "So you’ll help me get the children to believe in me, expecting nothing in return. I’m not stupid, you know.”

It wasn't lack of intelligence that made Jack an easy target. Part of Jack's mischievous was born from a sharp mind. It was nothing more complicated than simple loneliness, and Pitch knew that this was a most dangerous feeling. As he had observed in his long life, loneliness could drive human beings to do horrific things. Who knew what it could do to spirits?

He wondered idly if he should bring up the Man in the Moon, but chose not to. The lunar spirit was to be Pitch's trump card.

“I never said you were.” Perhaps reverse psychology might be worth a try. “I see I’m not getting through to you at all. I suppose I should just leave. Carry on traversing through the darkness, Jack. You’ll never escape, and you’ll find nothing to bring you even a marginal amount of happiness.”

Jack’s hands turned into fists.

“I can’t trust you,” he whispered.

“What can I do to change that?”

“Please.” Jack’s voice was barely audible now. “Release the fairies. I can hear their screams and I can't stand it.”

Pitch sighed, crossing his arms. “Very well.” A click of his fingers, and the clanking sound of steel doors opening filled the lair. It happened in a whirlwind of frantic movement. The shadowy hole that allowed the fairies to fly out of the underground dwelling closed as soon as they were gone, barring Jack the opportunity to follow them.

Jack’s mouth was open. His small white teeth seemed to glow in the darkness.

“Now,” said Pitch, smirking. “What else do you want? And what, exactly, will you offer me?”


	6. Chapter 6

Jack’s chest was hurting again. It wasn’t just the same feeling as before, the one that had been brewing since he had been struck by the arrow; it was the realisation that the teeth had gone with the fairies. The pile of them had just upped and floated away.

“What’s wrong? Did I not give you what you asked for?” Jack raised his head to meet Pitch’s gaze. Pitch laughed. “Oh, yes. I forgot.” As if from nowhere, Pitch held out his hand to reveal a cylindrical object. “Yours, I believe.” He tossed it over and Jack grabbed it. “I did wonder why you cared about the teeth, but the answer turned out to be quite obvious.” There was a short silence. “Need a moment alone?” The words themselves were sincere, but the mocking tone made Jack’s blood boil.

“I don’t want it,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Who cares what I was before?” Jack threw it against the ground. It didn’t smash.

“That was a gift,” said Pitch, but there was something like admiration in his eyes.

“Who were you before?”

“I thought it didn’t matter.”

The pain in Jack’s chest worsened. He rubbed at the skin above his supposedly existent heart, but nothing could soothe it. It occurred to him that this wasn’t just physical. He didn’t know how he had managed to get into this situation and if anything, it only made him resent the Guardians. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t be here right now. He would be out in the world, with the wind propelling him through the air, spreading snow and laughter. 

Not this.

Not with black sand in his heart.

“What’s it doing to me?” he whispered.

“I have no idea. The arrow wasn’t meant for you, as you’re well aware.”

“It hurts.”

“I can tell.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, Pitch was right in front of him. Jack felt a hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The touch was so unexpected that for a second he forgot his pain and his body relaxed. He shut his eyes again, embarrassed by his own reaction. Pitch’s hand was still on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

The shadows coiling around him were different now. Not the tendrils, not the nightmares. They looked like dark ghosts, calling out to him. Large white eyes and pained expressions.

Jack shuddered. “What are they?”

“Fearlings.” Pitch’s voice was lower now. “They like you very much - look how they gravitate towards you. They could make you a prince.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time.”

In time? Jack wasn't exactly known for his patience. Pitch's grip had tightened and Jack didn't know whether to lean into it or wrench himself away. It had been so long since he had been touched... had he ever been? He was sure that his face was flushing from his own contemplation. Did he blush, even? It wasn't though he made a habit of looking at his own reflection. Occasionally, when he was drawn to an icy pond, he would kneel down and look at his face. He couldn't see it clearly through the soft mist, but it reminded him that he was there. Years and years of no one seeing him and he often wondered if he was in the world at all. He used that as proof.

Pitch's touch was grounding him, reminding Jack that he existed. He didn't even wince when he felt Pitch's forehead pressed against his own, Pitch's breath ghosting over the side of his cheek.

"In time, Jack."


	7. Chapter 7

Pitch knew that he had gone too far, too fast. He sat back in his throne made of shadows, his hands clasped together. The idea of turning Jack into a Fearling Price had occurred to him in the moment as he drank in Jack’s fear; it was not something he had thought through and if he had, he wouldn't have suggested it to Jack so quickly. It had been so long since he had turned someone...

He drew in a sharp breath. As the Fearlings had swarmed Jack, he had relaxed more and more against Pitch’s touch. They seemed frozen in time for a while, Pitch’s forehead still pressed firmly against Jack’s and his hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. The skin of Jack’s face was so cold it practically burned, but Pitch did not pull away. Jack didn’t say a word after that. He hadn’t said a word since.

The last time Pitch had seen Jack, he had been staring morosely into the darkness as tendrils of shadows danced around him delightedly.

Unexpected guilt had begun to rack Pitch. Was there some way of allowing Jack to the surface without any chance of him escaping? Perhaps with Pitch monitoring him, or even his nightmares standing watch. The winter spirit seemed to be wilting and Pitch could only imagine that it was the loss of his beloved wind and snow – it couldn’t just be the arrow to the heart.

Pitch left his throne and went searching for Jack, who was still in the same place. Jack looked back at Pitch with a blank expression in his eyes, as though not seeing him at all.

“You can go outside,” Pitch said grandly. “But there are several conditions we need to put into place. Firstly – ”

“No. I don’t want to.”

Pitch frowned. What? “Of course you do.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

A dash of anger permeated Pitch’s next words. “Still tormenting yourselves with thoughts of those weirdos?” he snarled.

Jack's eyes narrowed. “You said it yourself – they barely know me.” His tone was flat.

“What’s the matter, then? I’m trying to give you want you want here!”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Brat.

Jack shook his head. “Please just leave me alone.”

Jack’s hair colour had changed slightly. It was still mostly pure white, but there were a couple of grey streaks here and there. His skin also looked more sallow. He looked like a scared little child, tainted by darkness. Which in a way, he was.

“What were you thinking when you protected the Sandman?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“This could have all been avoided.” Pitch congratulated himself on his restraint. He had managed to say it in a way that came across as balanced and even a little sympathetic to Jack's cause, when Jack's actions had in fact cost Pitch just as dearly.

“I know that!” snapped Jack, getting up. “Don’t you think I know that?!”

“It’s best not to brood on the situation, you know. Accept what has happened and move forward." Then it occurred to him again. "Sometimes, the best way to forge a future is to understand the past." 

Jack had rejected his memories the first time, throwing them to the ground. Pitch had picked them up later, and they were still hidden in his robes.

“Everything you wanted to know, in this little box,” intoned Pitch, pulling the cylindrical object out with a flourish, offering it to Jack once again.

He watched with interest as emotions flickered across Jack’s face.

"Do you want them, Jack? Your memories?" He smiled. "You can go on saying that they don't matter, but if you never know for certain what you were before, how can you expect to understand who you are now?" Pitch surged closer, pressing the object against Jack's front. He began to lightly drag it down Jack's chest, eliciting a surprised squeak from the boy.

Jack was trembling as he took the box from Pitch.

"A moment alone, I presume?" Pitch's voice was thick with triumph, a childish response to getting what he wanted. Still, there was a voice at the back of his mind that cautioned him against feeling too smug. He didn't know anything about Jack's past and he had no idea whether this would work to his favour or not. Regardless, it was better than watching Jack fall apart until there was nothing left of him for Pitch to use. He brushed away the nagging, persistent thoughts that suggested he genuinely cared about Jack's wellbeing.

"More than a moment," Jack said quietly, and turned away.


End file.
